Sunshine
by livluvlaugh96
Summary: It's Fourth of July, and both America and England reflect on how things have changed since America was little. Not USUK, no slash, no lemon, just brothers. One-shot.


"Alright everyone, I think we've covered enough for today. Remember, if you need the hero, just gimme a call, 'kay?"

Everyone groaned in unison as they pushed out their chairs and headed out of the meeting room. Alfred kept his trademark grin on his face as everyone left, wishing they would move out faster. He could only hide is exhaustion for so long. These World Meetings were just as taxing for him as they were for everyone else, but he refused to show it.

When all the nations finally left (except for Greece, who was promptly asleep in his spot), America let out a heavy sigh. _I think people think I actually enjoy these things… I enjoy them as much as France and England enjoy each other's company. But someone's gotta keep the positive energy up, right?_ He gathered up his papers, charts, and doodles and attempted to shove them into his briefcase. It wasn't working out too well.

"Do you need some help, Mr. America?"

Alfred looked up to find a young man with shoulder-length brown hair and bright green eyes. He laughed and said, "Lithuania, dude, how many times do I have to tell ya that you don't have to call me 'Mr.'?"

"Eheh, old habits, I guess. Can I help you with your papers? You seem to be having a little trouble."

Alfred laughed, and not his normal "hero" laugh. It sounded more tired, calmer. "Nah, I got it. Nothing a little shoving can't fix," he continued to crumple various papers into the case, which seemed much too small for its purpose. He struggled with it a little longer, and then slumped back into his chair. "Well, almost nothing."

Toris laughed, and hummed a little tune as he removed, flattened, and organized the various papers in record time. And somehow, he got them to fit perfectly in the little case. "Here ya go," he smiled and handed Alfred the case.

America chuckled and said, "I still don't know how you do it, man," he sighed, "Its days like these when I kinda miss having you around. But it's still awesome that you're independent now," he showed off his trademark grin, a real one this time. "Thanks, dude. I owe ya one."

With that, Lithuania said goodbye and headed out of the room, and America followed suit soon after. The blonde man followed his usual routine for after a meeting: first, buy a snack and eat it in the car. Second, play his favorite radio station and sing as loud as possible all the way home. Third, get home, and fall on the couch.

America took off his glasses and put them on the coffee table, and let out a sigh. The days were so long. Sometimes he wondered how many nations truly knew how much stress he was under. Every day was the same. A boss nags at him. He rides or walks down the street and sees either prospering cities or nearly shut-down towns. His body always felt sore when he rode in those depressed areas – a dull ache that reminded him that things weren't perfect everywhere. Even he, the seemingly most clueless and naïve nation of all the "adults," knew that things were never perfect in every corner and crevice of a country. It's just not possible. But he had tried to make it possible. Even in his early days of independence, he tried to make it possible, to make himself one of the most respected and strongest countries on the world map. But it was much harder that he thought it would be. Things always seemed to be like that.

_But I guess things could've and could be worse…_

Alfred let his thoughts wander as he closed his eyes, only to be interrupted by the maid. "Are you feeling alright, Mr. Jones?" she asked with a yawn. She must've been sleeping – it _was_ pretty late, he realized.

"Yeah I'm fine. You can go back to bed. I'll talk to ya tomorrow. I'll get to bed in a few minutes."

"If you say so."

He let his mind wander again. It relaxed him. But as he let it wander, he couldn't help but think of that song that he had heard on the radio earlier.

_Long ago, not so very long ago,_

_The world was different, oh yes it was_

_You settled down, you built a town, and made it there_

_And you watched it grow, it was your town_

_Time goes by, time brings changes,_

_And you change, too_

_Nothing comes that you can't handle,_

_So on you go_

_You never see it coming when the world caves in on you_

_On your town, nothing you can do_

He never, ever thought he would ever hear a song that could tell at least part of his life story. And apparently, that song was from a children's movie that he didn't even know about. Now that he thought about it harder, it was kind of a cycle. Everything seems great, things are moving forward, and then before he could say "I'm the hero!" something crashes down on him.

He forced himself to change the subject. Things weren't perfect now, but they are much better than they had been in the past. He didn't need to stress himself out more with the past.

America finally forced himself off the couch, and made his way to his bedroom. After changing into pajamas, he fell onto the bed and pulled the covers over himself. It was starting to rain, he realized, and silently listened to the pitter-patter of the raindrops. He couldn't help but think of England, and smiled as he thought of one of their few pleasant encounters.

"_Dude, why is it always freaking raining here?"_

"_That's just how it is. Day after day, either clouds or rain."_

"_Seems kinda gloomy to me."_

"_Mm. You get used to it, I guess."_

"_No wonder you're so grumpy all the time."_

"_Why you little-"_

"_Haha, dude, calm down. You're only proving my point."_

_Arthur sighed heavily, and looked down at his feet. "I guess that's one thing I _do_ enjoy when I visit you from time to time."_

"_Hm?"_

"_The sunshine. You always have so much sunshine…"_

"_Not during the winter."_

"_Yes you do. Down in the Southwest. It's almost sunny all year."_

_Alfred looked at his older brother, and for the first time in a long time he saw a softness in his green eyes, a longing. "Yeah… I guess you're right," he looked down at the coffee mug in his hands and continued, "Wait, how did you know that?"_

"_I told you… I miss the sunshine sometimes."_

"I miss the sunshine…" Alfred whispered aloud. Only then did he realize what Arthur might've meant by that.

With that, he closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.

Arthur lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the hotel he was staying in. The rain reminded him of home, and he couldn't help but wonder why the hell he decided to stay. The string of meetings in America was over – he could've gone home that day. But he stayed.

Maybe it was because of what day it was tomorrow. The day everything changed between them forever.

July 4th was _easily_ Alfred's favorite day of the year. It was practically his birthday, after all. But _why_ did he have to make such a big deal out of it? It was like he was rubbing it in his face. Like when he dragged his car for over an hour just to get his keys, just showing off his strength. He didn't even look _tired_.

"_One day, am I gonna be a big, strong country just like you, Mr. Britain?"_

Arthur had to laugh at the pure irony of it. "Of course you are, America," he said out loud. "Of course you are."

The rain outside had intensified. It didn't remind him of home anymore. It reminded him of that day. He could still feel the cold seeping through the uniform, and he could still feel the terror of his own baby brother pointing a musket at him. Even if the shot had been fired, he realized, he would've been fine. Who was he kidding? The emotional and physical scars would be too much for him to even look at America again.

There was one thing Arthur was grateful for. Even if he and Alfred weren't on the _best_ terms, both of them cared about each other. Alfred still visited him every once in a while, sometimes looking for console, sometimes just looking for a little catch-up time. And even if he didn't show it, Arthur was grateful for that. Ever since they worked together in WWII, their relationship slowly, _extremely_ slowly, was healing.

Maybe that's why Arthur stayed. America was usually the one to visit him, but every once in a while he would visit Alfred and actually enjoy himself. For some reason, whenever he thought of Alfred's home, or even Alfred himself, he always thought of sunshine. Maybe it was the climate of the country with so much sun, or maybe it was the color of Alfred's hair. He wasn't quite sure. But he did know that it was about time to thank America for his efforts of trying to befriend him again. He _was_ a gentleman, after all.

With that, he thought of a crazy, but ingenious way to thank his little brother. With that decision made, he fell into a fitful sleep filled with dreams and memories.

The next morning, Arthur couldn't tell if he was nervous or regretting his decision. Maybe both. Probably both.

Now Arthur could see why Alfred loved his "birthday" so much. _Everything_ was covered in red, white, and blue, people with noisemakers and flags standing in the streets, waiting for the parade. It was hot, loud, and stuffy with thousands of people. Alfred's natural habitat.

As Arthur walked down the streets, he felt so out of place it wasn't even funny. He didn't dare say anything to anyone because of his accent. But in order for his plan to work, he needed to buy a flag from someone. But all the flags people were selling were very small, the handheld ones. He needed one of the BIG ones. He finally found a shop that was selling them for the holiday, and held it wrapped up at his side. Everything he was doing felt wrong, but he knew Alfred would love it. Or maybe he would be just plain confused, or even be mad at him. Whatever happened, he needed to finish what he started.

The parade finally started, and even Arthur had to admit that it was very interesting, even fun. Marching bands, people on stilts and in costumes, floats of so many different kinds, tributes to the troops. He was amazed at the spirit and the patriotism that came from all his people.

Finally, he saw what he was looking for.

The biggest and last float in the parade was a standard platform, with a bald eagle in the front with its wings outstretched. American flags skirted the bottom, carefully placed so they wouldn't touch the ground. Arthur knew about the tradition of if an American flag touched the ground, it has to be burned. But atop the float, on a tall second platform, was a tall, blonde man with glasses that was holding a large American flag and grinning like an idiot.

Arthur followed the float all the way down the street until it stopped at the end of the block, and people began to gather behind it. Al was about to give his speech. Arthur pushed his way to the front, but still kept his flag curled around the post. Should he do this? Would Alfred even notice? Would he think he was mocking him? No, Alfred wouldn't look into it that deep. He had to do this, no matter how much it hurt him. But for some reason, he could get himself to unfurl the flag in his hands.

"Well, well, well, I never would of thought I would see you here, _mon ami_."

Arthur twirled around only to find a different blonde man, the last one he wanted to see at the moment.

"What are _you_ doing here, frog-face?"

"Well, I _did_ help him win his independence after all. It seems only fair that I celebrate with him, non?"

"Don't remind me," Arthur said coldly, and he turned back around.

Francis came up beside him and said quietly, "You must be at least a _little_ proud of him, Arthur."

Arthur hung his head and let his messy bangs cover his face. "No, I'm not," he snarled. He gripped the flag tighter. That was the truth. He wasn't a little proud of him. He refused to lie to himself any longer.

"_Mr. Britain, I can't wait to be big and strong like you when I grow up!"_

A low growl came from the back of his throat, and he said, "I'm _very_ proud of him."

With that, Arthur Kirkland let the American Flag in his hands uncurl, and he held in the air with one hand as high as he possibly could. He forced himself to look at Alfred, and when he did, even he couldn't deny nearly having tears in his eyes.

Alfred looked astonished. His big, blue, sparkling eyes were as wide as possible, and slowly, the biggest _real_ grin appeared on his face. England could only think of one time when he saw a smile that big and his eyes that wide – and that was when he gave him that set of toy soldiers. Maybe Arthur could never get that same boy back, but that boy was strong, free, and happy. Just the way he wanted it since he was little.

Al started to laugh, and he took his glasses off and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. To Arthur's surprise, he stepped down from his pedestal and held out his hand to him. Arthur took it, and before he knew it he was facing hundreds of proud Americans, cheering and eager to hear Alfred speak. But before he did, he said something quietly to his older brother.

"I guess I have a lot to thank you for."

"Same to you."

Both brothers held up their flags in opposite directions with their arms around each other.

"What do you wanna thank _me_ for?"

England looked at his young brother, the one he adopted and brought up. He squinted his eyes at the summer sun, the sky blue and clean from the rain the night before, and said to him:

"I want to thank you for giving me sunshine."


End file.
